


A Pirate of Music

by CarolimePie



Series: Past Lives (i have no impulse control) [4]
Category: Lunch Club, Lunch Club (Podcast), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: DO NOT SHIP, Drowning, Edited, Historical, Implied Death, Past Lives, pirate radio
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:48:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25148734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarolimePie/pseuds/CarolimePie
Summary: I have orphaned my other lunch club fics, but due to the nature of this series, it is hard to orphan just a select few. Thus so, I have decided to replace Carson with an original story. I'm disappointed but I'll what needs to be done. Please do not try to debate me in the comments about this choice, I will not respond.
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s)
Series: Past Lives (i have no impulse control) [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1784758
Comments: 6
Kudos: 46





	A Pirate of Music

**Author's Note:**

> I have orphaned my other lunch club fics, but due to the nature of this series, it is hard to orphan just a select few. Thus so, I have decided to replace Carson with an original story. I'm disappointed but I'll what needs to be done. Please do not try to debate me in the comments about this choice, I will not respond.

Cooper was drunk. There was no debating that fact, that’s for sure.

Blame Mikey. He was the one who suggested they play a drinking game on call.

He was surprised he lasted as long as he did, but it didn’t take longer than a couple of hours for it to catch up with him and send him staggering into bed.

“Goooood evenin’ my people,” announced a low and calming tone, “it’s currently eleven-thirty pm and you are listenin’ to Pirate Radio, don’t tell your parents. I’m your late-night host, Cooper sea-scoop, and in just a few minutes, you’ll be tuned in to the latest sea scoops.” Cooper put the needle on the record and let it spin, moving the hanging microphone down towards it and humming in content. 

He loved his job, he really did. The latest records, drugs, screwing over the government, and making people’s lives better with good old rock and pop? Amazing. The sounds of the track floated through the room, filling the space with a slow, relaxing piece. He breathed it in like the sea air. 

A rapid knock at his studio’s door startled him from his gentle listening. He looked through his glass wall at the panicked face of another DJ, Calvin, and nodded to him to open the door. He muted his main microphone and sighed, disappointed he wouldn’t be able to let his thousands of listeners know he was singing along with them. Calvin pushed the door open, hands shaking with a severity that made Cooper tense up. 

What was going on? Calvin leaned on the doorframe for support, the warm light of a lamp swinging from the ceiling behind him. 

“Cooper—shit—do you have any idea what’s going on?” His British tones were excessively frantic, his voice going up an octave at one point. 

Cooper shrugged. “I dunno, man, did’ya have a reason for interruptin’ my set?” He knew he sounded like a bit of a douchebag, but he was rightfully annoyed. No one interrupts the king of the sea for no good reason. Thinking about it, he probably should’ve realized this was urgent by now. 

Calvin groaned, but it almost sounded like a scream. “There’s a bloody hole in the side of the boat, you arse!” Cooper couldn’t help but laugh, though it was more from the surprise than anything. There was a beat of silence. The track played around them.

“Wait… you’re serious,” Cooper said, a full realization starting to crash onto his shoulders. He felt a weight in his chest as Calvin nodded. “C’mon, we’re getting out of here!” he urged, offering Cooper a hand out of his seat. 

Cooper looked to his track. It was almost done. He grimaced. “You go. I—I’ve gotta let the listeners know, ‘kay? Can’t keep ‘em in the dark.” His words sounded forced, but Calvin nodded, rushing down the hallway and letting Cooper’s door slam shut. 

With perfect timing, the track came to an end, and Cooper unmuted his mic with trembling hands. “Hey everyone—” he hated how weak his voice sounded—” so, uh, here’s the latest: the boat’s got a fuckin’ hole in it. How’s that for news, eh? Don’t worry your little heads about us old fuckers, though. We’ll be fine. This might be the last track I play for a while, so let’s make it a good one. How about some Beatles? Yeah, that fits. Okay… here’s the tune, I hope I’ll still be here by the end of it.” The disk began to spin and he let out a breath, switching his mic off. 

He looked around at the shelves surrounding him, lined with records and his own stupid cassettes. With a groan, he stood, rocking with the ship as he walked to his favorite collections. Dammit. He was such a sentimental idiot. There’s no way he was leaving this boat without them.

_“We all live in a yellow submarine”_

The music taunted him as he shoved the disks he cared most into a bag.

Sure, they’d weigh him down, but he was a good swimmer.

He felt water lapping at his ankles.

Shit.

He’d taken too long.

Tying the bag to his back, he took one last longing glance at his station. His home. Trying to ignore the tears pricking at his eyes, he hurried out the door and to the deck.

He was alone. The last standing on a boat headed for the bottom of the sea.

It was barely above the water.

Taking a deep breath, maybe his last, he jumped into the water.

The disks sunk him.

He should’ve just let them go.

But that wasn’t an option.

Instead, he swam to the best of his ability, trying to reach the surface.

Getting closer and closer until-

Well, _that_ was a weird dream.

Had it not been for his pounding head, he would’ve stopped to think about it.

The only thing on his mind, however, was breakfast.

“Morning,” Noah said, sipping a coffee. “You’re up surprisingly early. I heard you drinking at like 3 am, man.”  
Cooper squinted at the clock. Shit, it was 6 am. 

“I had a weird dream,” He said, pulling a Gatorade out of the fridge. “I’ll probably sleep later or something.”  
Noah raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Something about boats. I don’t remember,” He lied. He wasn’t sure why. Usually, he would’ve told Noah. The man’s easy to talk to. 

But something stopped him. Maybe it was his hangover. 

The rest of the day flew by. He didn’t even realize how late it was until Travis leaned into his room, suggesting they drive to McDonald’s.

“I’ll drive,” Cooper volunteered. 

“You sure? I heard you’re running on like 3 hours of sleep right now, dude.”  
He rolled his eyes. “I’ll be fine. I’ve driven on less.”  
  
The radio was playing older hits today. Classic Ella Fitzgeralds, Elvis, Queen.

As they stopped at a red light, the radio began playing “Yellow Submarine” by the Beatles.

Cooper stilled. 

Why was this so familiar?

Why were his arms aching, suddenly?

Why- 

“Cooper, the light’s green.”  
The voice sounded distant, like he was underwater.

“Cooper, you need to go.”  
“Turn it off,” he said, voice shaking.

“Wh- turn _what_ off?”  
“TURN OFF THE FUCKING RADIO, CALVIN!” He practically screamed.

Then- he snapped back to reality. He was in the middle of traffic. There were cars honking. 

Heart pounding, he swerved, pulling to the side of the road.

Then Caleb was gripping his shoulders. 

“What the FUCK, dude? What happened?”

Cooper shook his head. The radio was still playing. Smacking it off, he breathed.

“Sorry,” He muttered. “Didn’t mean to worry you guys.”  
Caleb let go. “It’s fine. Just scared the shit out of me.”  
Noah made them switch, driving the rest of the way there.  
Cooper ignored the fact that he could feel water lapping at his feet.

Excused it as a “bad hangover,” ignored the concerned looks from Travis and Caleb, the strangely knowing gaze of Noah.

Just a bad dream. Nothing more than that.

**Author's Note:**

> huge huge huge shoutout to writing_and_worrying for writing most of coopers dream!! go check him out, love you bro <3


End file.
